Annalise's POV
"Atlas… Atlas…" I murmured softly, my thoughts clouded with his image. Since our brief encounter at the court two days ago, he had consumed my mind, and I couldn't seem to push him out.
No matter how hard I tried to recall the characters from the book, his name didn't fit. His presence was both unfamiliar and strangely vivid. It was as though he'd slipped through the pages unnoticed, yet his effect on me was undeniable.
"Can you tell me about Sir Atlas?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as I addressed Roselle and Selene the following afternoon after my strange encounter.
Both women froze, their expressions shifting from calm to uneasy. It was subtle, but it was there—an unmistakable shift in energy.
Roselle, avoiding my gaze, spoke first. "I'm not quite sure, Your Grace…" Her voice trembled as she spoke, portraying her own discomfort. I caught the flicker of her eyes darting to Selene, who, instead of answering, busied herself with the task at hand, pointedly ignoring my question. Their reaction didn't sit right with me, but I chose to let it slide—for now.
"Okay," I muttered, pretending to accept her response, though my curiosity only grew. If I wanted answers, I knew I'd have to find them elsewhere.
"B-but Your Grace, why do you ask about him?" Roselle pressed, her voice shaking. Selene nudged her sharply, but Roselle persisted, her eyes wide with concern.
"I'm just curious," I replied with an easy smile, though I felt anything but at ease. "I met him at the main Palace yesterday."
"Well then," Roselle began hesitantly, "I suggest you be careful around him." Her voice dropped to a whisper, her words hanging in the air like a warning.
I leaned forward, suddenly more alert, as her cryptic words dug into me. "Why?" I pressed, my brows furrowing.
Roselle's lips quivered, caught between speaking the truth and holding her tongue. "I… I'm not certain, Your Grace, but there are… rumors," she murmured, glancing at Selene for reassurance.
"Rumors?" I asked, my voice tinged with frustration. "What kind of rumors?"
"I can't say for sure," she muttered, her gaze falling to the floor. "But I've heard he's a man with a dark past."
"A dark past?" I thought silently. With a heavy sigh, I sank back into my chair. Although I trusted Roselle's judgment, her hesitation made me doubt the credibility of her words. Was she hiding something, or simply too scared to speak? Either way, it wasn't enough to satisfy my growing unease.
Once again, his deep blue eyes flashed in my mind, their intensity searing through me. The sound of his voice, low and smooth, lingered—dangerous yet strangely captivating as they bounced off the cold walls. I couldn't stop thinking about him. Despite the conflicting emotions he stirred in me, there was something about him that felt… magnetic.
I had only one day left to make my decision, but truthfully, I already knew what it would be. I had no choice but to act quickly, especially with Vincent's unpredictable behavior looming over me like a storm cloud.
After the incident with him at his office, I had expected him to come charging in, demanding my attention, showering me with gifts to win me over like in the past. But there was nothing. No gifts. No disturbance. No demands. The silence was suffocating.
Though I should have been relieved, I was anything but. Fear gnawed at me—what was Vincent planning? Why had he gone quiet especially after everything that had happened at his office? I couldn't read his mind, but I knew he had something in store. My only hope was Atlas.
I needed information, and fast.
The next morning passed by in a blur as I grappled with my growing desperation. I tried to summon any detail about Atlas from my memory, but it was like trying to grasp water with my bare hands. The name felt familiar, but I couldn't place it. My head throbbed with the effort.
"Come on, come on!" I muttered, clutching my hair in frustration. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to recall anything from the pages of that old book. But everything was blurry, the words slipping through my fingers like sand.
Finally, I gave up. It was no use. The day slipped away, and night fell quietly around me. I had expected Atlas to appear, but he didn't.
The absence of him only fueled the anxiety gnawing at my insides. I needed him to show up—to tell him I had already made my choice and accepted his offer of my freedom given to me.
After dinner, I couldn't relax so I found myself wandering to the garden, slipping into my nightdress and stepping into the cool air. The breeze grazed my skin, biting just enough to remind me I was alive, but it wasn't enough to shake off the heaviness in my chest.
I sank into one of the wooden chairs, my thoughts spiraling into uncertainty. It was then that I heard it—the soft, deliberate sound of footsteps. I tried to ignore it, convinced it was just the wind, but the sound came again. Closer this time.
My heart skipped a beat, and I opened my eyes.
There, standing in the moonlight, was Atlas. His tall frame was bathed in silver, casting a shadow that seemed to stretch beyond him. The moonlight caught his features—sharp, cold, and impossibly beautiful. A shiver ran down my spine as I rose instinctively, my body tensing, my pulse quickening in response to his presence.
"Atlas…" I breathed, almost in disbelief that he was really here.
He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, and I couldn't look away. His deep blue eyes held mine, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe. The air around him seemed to thrum with something electric, something dangerous—yet I felt oddly at ease, despite the whirlwind of emotions inside me.
He stopped just in front of me, and the world seemed to hold its breath.
"Good evening your Grace."